Gold & White
by lavenderjacquard
Summary: It was silly, but Marco always dreamed of his wedding day. / Congrats to Marco & Pieck's VAs for getting married! [crack #1]


It was embarrassing, so Marco never talked about it much, but he always dreamed of getting married.

Boys weren't supposed to fantasize about getting married, his sister had informed him at the age of ten, when he mentioned that he couldn't wait to put on his best suit and marry Fiona, the girl next door, and kiss her under a shower of rice while she held a bouquet of daisies.

"Marco, only girls are allowed to think about getting married. Boys ruin _everything_," his sister said, wagging her finger.

So he kept it to himself, his visions of golden rings and dancing the night away with his bride to laughs and cheers.

However, ever since enrolling in the training corps and especially after graduating, Marco found himself thinking about it more and more; now he knew the dangers that soldiers faced. Lurking in the back of his skull was a dread that he wouldn't live to achieve that dream. Despite that, Marco did have some hope, because Jean had told him since he'd graduated in the top ten he was, in fact, a real catch.

"Man, when we join the MPs, the cute girls from the capitol will be all over us!" Jean had said earlier and gotten a smack from Sasha, but it always stuck with Marco. He didn't need a gaggle of women chasing after him. He just wanted one, someone who would cook him hot meals and rub his stiff shoulders every night, just like his mother did for his father. Even after twenty years together, Marco's mother still blushed when her husband gave her a wink across the dinner table.

So Marco often found himself staring up at the sky, at clouds, at stars, thinking about his wife, whoever she was. Maybe she'd be tall, or blonde, or have a crooked smile. He hoped that she looked up and saw the same sky, and maybe thought of him.

Since he did it so often, the thoughts began to seep into his dreams and take on a life of their own. The woman in these dreams was always the same, though. She was short, small, with messy black hair covered by a gossamer veil. For so many nights he found himself at the end of the aisle in a church, staring at her, trying to walk up to her, but the aisle kept stretching longer and longer. The woman at the altar looked back at him, playful smile on her face, seemingly content with watching him flounder.

Finally, one night, he shouted out, "Tell me! What's your name?"

The woman held up her hand, the one holding a bouquet of white lilies.

"It's Pieck," she said, pink lips forming the words.

Pieck. It was a name he'd never heard before. The other girls he knew had feminine names, like Krista and Mina and Annie, but this one had a certain firmness to it that he liked.

The next night he was finally next to her at the altar, and when Marco lifted the veil he saw she had deep brown eyes, the color of chocolate, a few fine lines trailing away from the corners. They were shaped like almonds.

She looked into his own eyes and he couldn't hold her gaze. His eyes dropped to the floor and he felt his cheeks burn. Pieck took his hand and brought it to her lips, and Marco looked up, every bone in his body turning to air.

"What's taking you so long?" Pieck murmured.

"W-what do you mean?"

"I've been waiting here for you," she said, bringing his hand up to her cheek. It was smooth, so soft, like the fabric of his mother's best dress. He worried for a moment that his hand was too rough, too dry, and she would find it unseemly.

"I...I'm trying," Marco said, sheepish.

Pieck laughed, eyes crinkling. "Try a little harder."

Suddenly there was a hard kick to his ribs, and Marco bolted upright, blanket falling to his lap. Sunlight streamed through the window of the barracks. A man stood above him, back to the light, face obscured. For a second Marco thought he was still in his dream, and that Pieck's disapproving father had come to steal her away, and his heart jumped to his throat. But when he blinked a few times, vision restored, he saw it was only Jean.

Jean ripped the blanket off Marco. "Get up, man. We're going to Trost."


End file.
